


playing pretend

by asexuelf



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Master/Slave, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Slavery, and other good advice, and unnamed fenris lover because i wanted to keep that one vague, dead danarius do not attempt to rationalize the actions of your abuser, this ones a little weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 07:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21406354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: Even among his peers, Danarius was a strange man.
Relationships: Danarius/Fenris
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	playing pretend

**Author's Note:**

> found this old thing and fixed it up to Cope™. sorry for any formatting issues or typoes, etc. got no beta for this one.
> 
> hope ya enjoy

Even among his peers, Danarius was a strange man. His experiments were outlandish and terrifying, his politics were confusing and mystifying, not to mention his infatuation with elves, which to most in his social circle was downright embarrassing. If not for his standing (or his lyrium-bound pet), Fenris is certain the entire magisterium and even all her laetan would have stood against Danarius.

Still, no one knew just how strange Danarius truly was. No one except Fenris.

It’s easier to remember these things now, head resting on a lover’s chest, knowing that Danarius is dead. That past will stay in the past. It can’t hurt him anymore - not truly. Not physically.

Not all of the memories are painful. Or, to speak more specifically, not all of the memories are about pain. They ache in his chest and feel cruel now that he knows exactly what those kind moments meant, but he finds himself thinking of those sweet moments regardless.

Sometimes, Danarius liked to… _ play_. 

He was such an odd man that even Fenris knew this to be strange, despite having known nothing but his master after the lyrium ritual. Occasionally, his cruel, stern tone would grow sweeter. _ Affectionate. _ His hands would smooth Fenris’ hair and he’d invite his lyrium wolf into his bed for nothing other than a cuddle. Once, with his hands rubbing comforting circles into Fenris’ touch-starved skin, Danarius had sung the somber notes of the Imperial Chant.

All of this was terrifying and wondrous to Fenris, so used to his master’s violence. But nothing surmounted the absurdity of Danarius’ playful moods.

He remembers the way Danarius tossed his house slipper onto Fenris’ small pallet from his seat on the bed. “Fetch!” He’d said, smiling at his little joke. “Be a good wolf.”

In those days, kneeling before his master - being a _ good wolf _ \- meant eating, sleeping, knowing touch and companionship. It meant survival.

So, Fenris had crawled after the slipper, grabbing it to offer it back with upturned palms.

“Oh, no, no, Little Wolf!” His master had laughed. “Do it the way Porcius’ mabari does it. Play fetch.”

He tried again, tossing the slipper back amidst Fenris’ blankets. This time, Fenris bounded after on hand and knee, grabbed the shoe in his mouth, and thought, _ This is very unusual _.

Fenris found he didn’t like fetch, although he was very good at pretending to. Danarius loved it, and when Danarius loved something, Fenris did anything he could to perfect it, to give it to his master in its best form. There was little he could do as a slave, but in hopes of his own happiness, he could please his master.

Luckily, there were other ways to do this. One was by being displeasing.

Fenris hadn’t understood the game at the time.

Danarius had begun the game simply by asking for Fenris’ opinion. He did this occasionally, when he was feeling affectionate, knowing that Fenris would parrot back only his master’s opinions. A slave is simply a tool of his master’s desires; a projection of his master’s will.

Fenris did this again, on reflex, barely hearing his own words over his own contentment. Warm in his master’s bed, well-fed from Danarius’ own plate, Fenris lay against Danarius. While Fenris was confused at this being the wrong answer, Danarius was (thankfully) amused. 

“Tell me your _ true _ thoughts on Magister Severinus.” He said. “I want to know, really. No answer will receive punishment.”

Even then, Fenris knew that to be a lie. Any admission of loyalty or love to Magister Severinus would likely end in a beating or worse, time in the box. He couldn’t protect Danarius from inside the box, couldn’t see or hear anything happening around the manor. Inside the box was cold and dark and he was so _ hungry_. At least when Hadriana tormented him, there was evidence of other life. The box provided no such certainty.

He shivered against Danarius. Luckily, he felt no love for the magister. The man was repulsive, having his way with the house slaves in the manor when he visited despite Danarius’ open contempt for it. Despite not having permission from Danarius to do so, he would take his pleasure from his property. Judging by the way his eyes lingered on Fenris during his master’s visits, if Severinus were a braver (or more foolish) man… The thought made Fenris ill. He belonged to Danarius and Danarius alone.

So, to obey, Fenris was honest. “I believe him an ass, Domine.” Then, “A colossal one.”

The laughter that shook Danarius seemed to shake the entire room - and it shook for quite a long time. When it was over, Danarius brought a trembling hand to his eye to wipe tears from his cheek.

“Oh, Fenris,” He shook his head, grinning, dispelling all apprehensions that Fenris felt. “You are something special indeed.”

The game didn’t end there. From here on, when Danarius was in the mood, he’d lock his door, send away anyone who was not Fenris, and give a new command - _ misbehave_. It was the most difficult game to play, but after many times of never being punished, Fenris found himself taking a liking to it. He was allowed to take liberties he never could before - say rude things, disobey orders, touch Danarius first… 

More often than not, Danarius found this behavior amusing and occasionally arousing.

Fenris did his best to keep amusing instead.

He was so careful; he never broke or tore anything, never made a mess. He never said anything untoward or cruel about his master (but then, he hadn't had many cruel thoughts about his master then, did he?) or people his master was fond of (which were few and far between).

He would thumb through books he couldn't read and make things up, pretending to read them aloud to Danarius. He would walk on two feet, which was typically forbidden in the confines of Danarius' room, and strut like he owned the place. He would kiss Danarius' ears and tell him he loved the shape of them. He would peer out the window and describe the people he saw in an unflattering way.

Once, just to test the limits of Danarius' amusement, he stole a bite from his master's fork as he was raising it to his mouth. Something dangerous had glinted in his eyes, but he hadn't been able to hold back the smile.

Fenris knows of no other master who enjoyed playing the way Danarius did. A slave is not a person; even if by being alive, every slave is a person, slavery is the removal of personhood. And Danarius gave him personhood, even if it was only pretend. Danarius liked it when he pretended to be a person.

Even wrapped snugly in the arms of an equal, Fenris feels familiar fear. Confusion.

Was Danarius… lonely? Did he truly care for Fenris in his own way? Which is worse - that Danarius had a heart or that Danarius was heartless?

He doesn’t like thinking about it, doesn’t like wondering. He doesn’t like looking back and seeing a man instead of a monster.

“Tell me he’s dead,” he whispers into the dark. The arms around him tighten and the words are spoken again, and again, and again.

_ He’s dead. _ And Fenris doesn’t have to play anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading


End file.
